


Beneath the Surface

by Worffan101



Series: Rachel Connor's story [3]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek Online
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2020-12-27 05:24:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21113399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Worffan101/pseuds/Worffan101
Summary: Undercover supersoldier Rachel Connor's life was ruined by the sinister domestic terrorists who turned her into a living weapon.  But some people can find beauty even in an emotionally-damaged commando and her persistent mental health issues.





	Beneath the Surface

**Author's Note:**

> This is a weird one I'm not totally happy with that I originally wrote a couple years or so ago. I've tweaked and reworked it a bit so that there's a bit more emotional cohesion to it and I'm not /actively/ concerned about it, but I dunno, something about it just doesn't quite click for me. Probably because it was one of my first stabs at writing romance, before I got lots of practice writing that for the Supergirl fandom. :)
> 
> Anyway, I hope this is at least entertaining! 
> 
> Exposition:  
\--Remans ("Havrannsu"): Offshoot of the Romulan species and relatives of the Vulcans. Possess leathery scales, elongate canines, superhuman strength, green blood, and potent telepathic abilities.  
\--Trill: Humanoid, marsupial-esque species that forms a symbiotic relationship with extremely long-lived worm-like animals that can inhabit the stomach pouch. Possess a distinctive spot pattern down either side of the body, from the forehead to the toes.  
\--Cardassians: Reptilian humanoid species and core species of the Cardassian Union. Formerly led by a fascist regime, currently an unstable democracy plagued by the ultranationalist, revanchist True Way/"Cardassian Third Empire" terrorist group. Some Cardassians suffer from the degenerative disease known as Yarim Fel Syndrome.  
\--tlhInSa: Klingon equivalent of chess, a complex strategy game played on a triangular board between two or three players, traditionally depicting a legendary war between the Klingon messiah, Kahless the Unforgettable, and the hated tyrant Molor.  
\--Di'ranov: Romulan and Reman familiar term for a male parent.  
\--Operation Mockingbird ("Mockingbird"): Final battle of the Iconian War of 2410, closely following an Iconian terror bombing of Earth, the Klingon homeworld of Qo'noS, and both rival Romulan capitals. Iconian invasion of the Milky Way thwarted due to destruction of the Dyson sphere they were using as a staging area and supply conduit. The Iconian invasion force's high command is killed and their fleet shatters.  
\--Third World War/WW3: Devastating multiway nuclear conflict that nearly wiped out Earth in the mid to late 21st century. Roughly speaking, NATO vs. domestic neofascist uprisings vs. neofascist Russia vs. Augment-ruled India vs. power-for-profit's-sake China. The death toll was above two and a half billion people; recovery took decades and the scars of the war lasted for centuries.  
\--Tellarites: One of the four founding species (Andorians, Humans, Tellarites, Vulcans) of the Federation. Squat humanoids with wrinkled facial skin, short snouts, and robust builds.  
\--Benzites: Humanoid species, have difficulty breathing in Earth-like atmospheres. Blue-skinned, with a "catfish-like" face that has drooping barbels and a cartilaginous pad over much of the upper face.

_ Lieutenant Rachel Connor. USS _ Bajor _ MACO barracks, February 20th, 2411. _

“Warrior to 5.2.4. Trap.” 

“Damn!” chuckles Luiz, kicking back on his bunk with the latest issue of _ Jane’s _. “She’s got you there, Chief.” 

“Lieutenant to 5.3.6,” counters Lamont. Kallio hums approvingly. 

I study the board. Lamont’s behind but he isn’t going down easily. We’re just doing a quick _ tlhInSa _ game, not Final Reflection or anything equally complicated, and I’ve managed to maneuver him into a bit of a corner. So far he’s down two-thirds of his pieces to my half. “Nice one,” I admit, then move one of my pieces. “Champion to 2.6.4.” 

K’tar chuckles. “Just give up, Lamont, she’s kicking your ass.” 

“Today’s a good day to get my rear kicked,” the Human retorts. “I can still pull this off.” 

“Listen to the Klingon, Chief,” I tease. “Obviously I’m so much better at tactics that I got my dumb ass shot in the Arucanis Arm back in ‘04.” 

Lamont’s chuckle is cut off by my combadge. “_ Kanril to Lieutenant Connor _.” 

I stand, slapping the combadge to accept the call. “Connor here, ma’am.” 

“_ Get your men suited up, we have a situation. _” 

“Yes, ma’am. Connor out.” Luiz is already off his bunk and throwing open lockers. “You know the drill, boys. I’ll finish you off later, Lamont.” 

***

_ Ensign Eleana Valen. Cardassian Ministry of Health research station, in orbit of Kora II, Cardassian Union. _

I’m forced to sit down next to Tanya Ivanashvilli, a Human botanist from a little province called Georgia on their homeworld’s Eurasian continent. The Cardassians have a guard on either end, and a man patrolling up and down the line of seated prisoners as the assault teams force us to the floor. 

This was supposed to be a mission so routine we were barely needed. A deployment of junior science personnel from _ Bajor _ to check up on a private research station in a lunar habitat near an outer Cardassian colony, a lab working on a cure for Yarim Fel syndrome that had recently reported a breakthrough. But two hours after we arrived, a True Way cruiser and four escorts warped in, disabled the CDF cruiser in orbit of the colony, and beamed assault troops over to the research station. 

Now they’re lining us up. Meylina Tarn’s shoved down roughly on my left, bleeding from a nasty cut across her forehead scales. The True Way troops salute the glinn in charge here, and head out for another sweep. 

Any questions are met with rifle butts. After our first two tries leave Ivanashvilli wheezing in pain, we sink into a sullen silence. I try probing the True Way forces, but I get nothing other than the basic contempt and hate they have for us, and some kind of anticipation. 

Ten minutes later, the door to our lab hisses open and two more Cardassians enter. One is a big, heavyset Dalin with a somewhat tight-fitting uniform. The other is a svelte Gul who moves with precision and elegance, wearing an old Dominion War-styled Cardassian Guard uniform with a First Order pin under a black longcoat. Just brushing his mind makes my extremities go cold; the Gul’s mind is as deep, black, and cold as his pitiless eyes. 

The Gul comes to a halt in front of us, and turns crisply on his heel, longcoat swishing just enough to be elegant without seeming overly showy. The Cardassians snap to attention. 

“At ease.” He speaks softly, evenly, and it’s colder than the poles of Andoria. “Good evening, prisoners. I am Gul Ancet. We have a matter of great importance to discuss.” 

***

_ Rachel _

“Twenty minutes ago a Cardassian colony on Kara II sent out a distress call,” Aly Gantumur explains as my unit and her security troops assemble in the transporter room. “A small force claiming allegiance to the Cardassian Third Empire—that’s what the True Way are calling themselves now—entered the system, disabled the CDF ship in orbit, and moved to secure a research facility on a local moon. That facility has a civilian research unit and a team from _ our _ Science Department on board—the researchers recently claimed to have discovered a cure for Yarim Fel syndrome, a nasty Cardie disease, so we sent a team to check it out on the grounds that this is a significant asset for Detapa Council government. The enemy is led by a Gul Ancet—ex-CDF, dishonorably discharged for conduct unbecoming, something about ditching a betrothal. He’s got a record of sentient-rights violations longer than my grandmother’s scarfs.” 

“Got it. Hostages?” 

“At least seven, being held in the facility. Presumably Ancet has them under guard, and if he sticks to his MO he’ll execute them one by one until someone gives him what he wants, then space the rest. Captain wants you to take him out, then we secure the facility.” 

“Right. We’ll beam in near where the hostages are, I’d say one level down, so that they don’t kill people when they see us beaming in. Your teams secure the facility while I get the hostages and fuck up Ancet.” 

“Alright. Try to take Ancet alive, he’s a HVT who potentially has valuable intel.” 

“Got it.” I motion to the boys. “Kallio, leave the Suomi, bring a TR-18 and set it to heavy stun.” 

“Sir.” 

“Good luck, assault chief. Try not to die.” 

“The same to you. I’d miss having you getting blasted in the bar every other day. Also—Gisela’s 19 this week, you coming to the party?” 

“I’m not exactly party material…” 

Lamont claps a hand on my shoulder. “We’re coming. Not every day you get a chance to hang out with some posh prince's daughter.” 

“Good. 0200 hours, in the bar on Saturday, and you’re not convincing anyone with your bullshit, Connor. Oh, and if you break the bar again you’re getting my foot up your ass and a meeting with Lieutenant Korekh’s glare.” 

“Did you just _ volunteer _ me, Chief?” I ask in disbelief as the assault chief gets her people into line. 

“Yes, I did,” he replies shamelessly. “Now I think we’re dropping out of warp in less than a minute.” 

“…you canny son of a Ferengi. You realize that I’m not going easy on you next time we play _ tlhInSa _, right?” 

Lamont just laughs and seals his helmet. I shake my head with a grin and do the same. It’s time to work. 

***

_ Eleana _

“Struggle. Conflict. War. The stuff of greatness.” Gul Ancet traces his leather glove along one of the lab tables. “Even your Darwin realized that. But it took greater men, men of vision like your Hitler, Krasnov, and Khan, and our Tret Akleen, Trekal Darhe’el, and Skrain Dukat, to admit the deeper truth.” 

I elbow Ivanashvilli to keep her quiet, feeling a spike of outrage in her mind at the Cardassian’s words (seriously, _ what _ is it about fascists and misunderstanding natural selection?). Raising a head now is a death sentence. 

“Struggle is what made Cardassia great,” says the Gul, calmly and softly. His mind is a cold, empty hole, a pit of pure disdain for every thinking creature that makes me want to vomit just being in the same room. “Look at Bajor before our glorious First Empire uplifted their pathetic world. Rolling in fat and riches, they had degenerated into soft and technologically inferior stagnation. Meanwhile, on Cardassia, where every bite of food had to be clawed from the soil by our farmers, where every meal was only _ potential _ until consumed… our pure race grew strong.” Ancet turns towards us. “This is why your Federation will fall. You seek to _ end _ struggle, to crush the spark of evolution beneath the weight of _ peace _ and _ individuality _. There is only one way—the True Way of conquest and eternal war.” Ivanashvilli’s shaking with barely-controlled rage. I’m just trying not to vomit. 

He stalks towards us, and I try to keep my head down. The Cardassian’s boots are polished, but the leather is worn and used underneath. I still feel nothing but cold disdain from him. “You are working on a synthetic cure for Yarim Fel syndrome. Recently, you reported a significant breakthrough to the Federation and its puppet government on our homeworld, and a Starfleet science team was dispatched to this facility to assist with production and further tests.” How did he know that last part? They must have been watching this facility for some time. “So. You will give me the cure, and the data that you have collected so far, and I will leave you unmolested.” 

We respond with silence. Ancet waits, five, ten, fifteen, thirty seconds, then gives a little sigh. “Very well, then. Dalin, bring me the one on the end.” Ivanashvilli tries to stand as a Cardassian pulls Doctor Moka up, but she’s clubbed back down by another True Way soldier. Moka, a middle-aged Benzite, struggles in vain against his cuffs and the burly Cardassian holding him. 

“Doctor Brevin Moka,” Ancet says with a slight upwards curl of his lips, not a grimace but without the warmth of a smile. “Pick a number.” 

“What?” 

“A number, Doctor. ‘What’ is not a number.” 

“Never. I’ll never comply with…” Ancet jerks his head, and the Dalin clubs Moka over the head, then throws him back onto the end of the line, bleeding from the temple. 

“The next,” demands Ancet. The Dalin hauls up Doctor Kraus, a greying Human woman from one of the northern provinces on Earth. “Ah. Doctor Kraus, from Germany, yes? I have a great admiration for your people’s achievements in your Second World War. A pity about the end, of course. And a greater pity that you fought on the wrong side of the Third. Now, we are rather pressed for time. Please, pick a number.” 

She spits at him. “Die in a fire, _ arschfischer _.” 

The Cardassian wipes the spit off of his face calmly, then pulls back his longcoat to reveal a disruptor at his hip. “Pick a number, or I will choose one. I am not a patient man today.” 

“Go to Hell.” 

“As you wish. Dalin, put her back in line. I choose… three.” His lips peel into a real smile. “For your people’s mistake in fighting against evolution, Madam Kraus. Kill every third until one of them tells me where they have hidden the cure.” 

“Yes, my Gul.” The burly Cardassian shoves the struggling Human down, backhanding her when she snarls and tries to rise. He pulls out his disruptor. “One.” He keeps it up as he passes Moka. 

“You fascist bastard!” spits Ivanashvilli. The Dalin doesn’t even look up. 

“Two.” The gun still raised, past Kraus; then it lowers as he reaches T’mel. “Thr…” 

An explosion rocks the facility. Ancet’s communicator chimes, and the Dalin stops. The Gul doesn’t even curse as he answers the call. “Gul Ancet.” 

“Borokh_ to Gul Ancet, Federation and Detapa Council forces are in the system! We’re under attack _!” 

“How many, soldier?” Annoyance flares underneath the disdain, though it doesn’t reach his voice. 

“_ At least a dozen! Oh, _ shtel _ , they have a _ Galaxy _ -class… _ ” Alarms blare on the station. “ _ Sir, they’re beaming troops onto the station! _” 

“Security teams, report!” 

“_ Team one, clear _.” 

“_ Team two, all clear. _” 

“_ Team three, we hear weapons discharges! _” 

There’s a moment of silence. Ancet’s lips drop back into a cold mask. “Team four?” 

Silence. Ancet snarls. “Team three, report!” 

“_ Team four is down! What the—aaAAAAgh… _” The Cardassian cuts off mid-scream with a burst of static, followed by an ear-piercing whine. 

Ancet terminates the call. “Defensive positions,” he snaps. “Dalin, did I order you to stop? Continue.” 

“…yes, my Gul.” The Cardassian points his gun at T’Mel. I can feel her fear boiling up under the iron Vulcan willpower, but she musters the courage to pull her face up and look him in the eyes. The Cardassian hesitates, just for a moment. 

Then the door explodes. 

***

_ Rachel _. 

I drop the Cardassian who I just took out like a dirty shirt, then leap around the corner and up the stairs. “We’re low on time, move, boys!” Lamont barely has time to answer in the affirmative before I slam shoulder-first into the door at over thirty miles per hour. A military-grade door would shrug off even my two hundred-plus pounds of supercharged muscle like a flea, but this one, civilian-grade and made to keep contaminants out rather than withstand a siege, folds like tissue paper as I tear it clean out of its hinges. 

Should’ve beamed into the room, and damn the risk of getting immediately shot. I don’t want to give those True Way fuckers a second with the hostages. 

Disruptor fire greets me, ripping into my shields as I stand. There’s a big Cardassian standing by the prisoners, his weapon drawn and aimed at a Vulcan by his feet. 

I leap, grabbing the disruptor arm and tearing it clean out of its socket, shattering the elbow and wrist in the process and leaving the limb hanging by a partial muscle, before the Cardie can even recover from my entrance. He doesn’t even have time to process what just happened before I shatter his jaw with a punch, instantly knocking him out. 

“Take her down!” shouts a Cardassian, and more disruptors burn through my shields and score my armor. I try to shield the hostages as best I can—Benzite, three Humans, two Vulcans, a Tellarite, two Cardassians, a Bolian, and some kind of alien or hybrid I don’t recognize, all cuffed with their arms behind their backs, a bit battered but still alive—but with only one of me I need to end this, fast. 

I unsling my phaser pulsewave and pull off a shot at the nearest pair of Cardies as they duck for cover. Lamont and Luiz are on the stairs, Kallio and K’tar just behind. I jump onto the table in front of me, leaning over as the Cardies I just missed scramble backwards, and hit them both with three shots in the face on heavy stun. _ That _ gets through their shields, even as return fire from behind burns into my back plating. Someone screams behind me. _ Fuck! _I catch myself on the stumble forwards, spin on my heel, and tab my TR-20’s grenade launcher to flashbang, raising it…

One of the Cardies is already holding a hostage, the other falling from a burst from Lamont. The last Cardie, tall, Gul’s badge, has the hybrid, looks like some kind of hybrid of Human and maybe Reman, in front of him with his disruptor to her head. He hauls her back as she tries to struggle, but he digs the gun into her temple harder and she stops. 

“Put the gun down, Lieutenant,” he orders, voice soft in the sudden silence. “Or I kill her.” 

“LT, I don’t have a bead on him” growls Lamont. The fucker’s holding her in front of him, and my line of fire’s not much better. 

“Disarm yourselves _ now _ or she dies,” demands the Gul again. The hostage whimpers, wide-eyed. “I give you five seconds. One. Two. Three. Four…” 

“Alright,” I hiss, bending down to set my gun down. Melting plastic is burning into my flame-retardant undersuit in the back, that hurts like a bitch, hopefully won’t set off my augs. “But you’re not getting away. Your ships have maybe thirty seconds before we take them out.” 

He chuckles, sort of. It’s not really a proper chuckle so much as a cold imitation of one. “You may have a body worthy of the Master Race, but your mind is as weak as those of other inferior men, Lieutenant. Like the rest of your Federation, you have no _ vision _ .” The gun’s still held to the hybrid’s head, without so much as a shake. This guy’s _ good _ , even if his spew makes less sense than an Ivan Krasnov rant from a historical holo. “With this inferior creature’s life I can force you to give me a shuttle, and time to escape. You people lack the strength to do what is necessary, Lieutenant. Unlike Supreme Legate Morag, you have no _ conviction _ , without the _ vision _ to see purity or the _ strength _ to do what is necessary to achieve a strong Race. You are an evolutionary dead end, a wastebasket of history that yet clings to a half-life.” The Cardassian shakes his head with a smile, continuing in the same soft tones. “In fact, your culture’s weakness is so great that a man such as I may use this pathetic creature’s life to force your total surrender.” He jerks his head at me. “Beam out, Lieutenant. With your entire squad. Or I kill her.” 

“You know I can’t do that.” 

He jams the gun into her temple, and she chokes back a gasp of pain. “_ Now, _Lieutenant. Prove to me that you are weak.” 

Fuck. I try to find something, anything I can do to stop him. But he’s twenty feet away and he’s holding the hostage in our firing lines. “Alright. I’ll contact my ship for a beamout.” _ You shitlicking son of a Kazon whore _. 

“One false move, and I’ll kill her,” warns the Cardassian. I can’t have him beamed out, he’ll kill her before the beam can fully derez him. He’ll kill her if only I go, and if I charge I can’t cross the twenty feet between us _ and _ get his gun out of the lethal arc in time. I’d need to be right behind him…

“Right. _ Bajor _, this is Lieutenant Connor, the Cardassian leader has a hostage, and it’s a case HYDRA; I can’t disarm him without putting her at risk. I need a beamout for me and my squad, or he’s going to shoot her.” 

“_ Roger that, Lieutenant. Stand by for transport. _” 

The Cardassian smiles. “Very good, Lieutenant. You see what your lack of strength has…” The transporter fuzzes, and I appear behind him. The unexpected noise from behind him has him starting a turn before his discipline can catch him, a half-second that’s just enough for me to grab his gun arm and jerk it upwards. The disruptor bolt fries a row through the hybrid’s hair and she shrieks, but I snap the Gul’s wrist like spaghetti, yank him backwards, and throw him into a wall hard enough to leave a dent. 

“GAAAHHH!!!” screams the Cardassian, rolling sideways as I stamp down at where he just was. “You inferior _ scum _ ! You have no _ vision _!” He pulls a knife; I kick it out of his hand, mangling his fingers. The Cardie tries to backpedal, hissing a pained curse. 

I grab him by the front of his armorweave vest and lift him above my head. “You’re under arrest, you fascist little Kazon-fucker. Anything you say can and will be used against you.” And I’m thanking my lucky stars that I practiced that transporter ambush move with the boys on the holodeck. Commander Reshek wasn’t happy about us overtaxing the transporter, but it was definitely worth it. “If you don’t have a lawyer, the court will appoint one. Clear?” 

“_ Damn _ your kind,” spits the Cardie, blood foaming with his saliva. “You were granted men of the _ greatest _ vision, men like Trump and Krasnov and Hitler who knew the _ truth _ of the universe, and you _ abandoned _ them! You saw their vision, and you were _ terrified by it _! We will crush you underfoot, Federation…” 

“Shut the fuck up, dickweasel.” I slug him in the jaw, not quite hard enough to crack it. He groans, tries to shake his head, spits out more blood, cursing semi-intelligibly. “I don’t play fast and loose with lives, but I _ do _ know _ exactly _ how fast I can react. And that’s just fast enough to beat _ your _ reflexes, dumbass.” I transfer him to my other hand, holding him up in the air while trying to fake effort as I open up my helmet. “Gantumur, this is Connor, hostages are secured.” Lamont and the boys are back in the room, already getting to the hostages. 

“_ Copy that, we’re cuffing the last Cardassians down here now. _” 

“Roger that, nice work. _ Bajor _, Lieutenant Connor. Hostiles are neutralized, hostages secured, HVT secured, need medical teams to look them over.” I turn my attention to the standing hostage, the scaly hybrid woman—huh, looks like she has spots, so she’s part Trill rather than Human—then toss the Gul down on the floor and step on his chest just hard enough to pin him. “You alright, ma’am?” 

***

_ Eleana _

The shape that comes through the remains of the door is a black-armored soldier with the Federation chevron proudly emblazoned on her chest. She moves like lightning, nearly taking off the Dalin’s arm and delivering an uppercut to his jaw that lifts him half a foot off the deck before the Cardassians can react. The Dalin crumples; disruptor fire scores the soldier’s shields as she turns, trying to shield us with her body. She unslings her phaser, sprays a wide-beam shot at two of Ancet’s men, then jumps on top of a lab table with easy grace and hits them again as they try to scramble backwards. 

It’s like watching a tiger against unsuspecting deer. Beautiful and brutal. The soldier is impossibly swift, graceful and elegant as she pulls off two more shots at the men on the ground with economical precision, Ancet and the other soldier shooting at her rear shields from somewhere behind me. 

Something grabs me roughly around the neck and hauls me up. I shriek in panic, feeling Ancet’s smooth mind, now boiling with a kind of—not anger, not really, more _ frustration _—as his disruptor pistol jabs into the side of my head. The soldier turns like lightning, her armor burning and melting as it protects her from the disruptor fire as more soldiers arrive in the doorway, one of them catching Ancet’s last soldier with a phaser blast to the back. 

“Put the gun down, Lieutenant,” hisses Gul Ancet, “or she dies.” 

The soldier doesn’t strike. She’s a pit of rage overlaying worry for me and the other hostages, determination, and something hidden, something twisted and _ wrong _ deep within herself. Her voice is barely above a snarl as she puts her gun down on the desk. Ancet, emboldened by his success, uses me as a bargaining chip again. _ Don’t do it! _ I try to send mentally, but my telepathy isn’t as developed as a full Reman’s; complete telepathy is normally beyond me. The soldier complies with his demand, shoulders slumping, but I can feel her thinking, she has some kind of plan, and she’s crystallized into a cold wrath that _ refuses _ to let Ancet escape. 

The transporters take the soldiers, and…

The disruptor fires by my ear and I hear myself scream again, stumbling sideways into the lab table and barely keeping my feet as the soldier rams Ancet into a wall like an angry bear. Ancet manages to partially scramble away as my savior stalks towards him like a hunting panther, but she grabs him before he can even regain his feet, easily disarms him before he can get her with his knife, and punches him into a semiconscious bleeding haze when he begins ranting. 

She turns to me and pulls up her visor while holding Ancet in the air with one hand. She’s a centimeter or so taller than me in the armor, a sleek warrior with bronzed skin and brown eyes set in a smooth Human face, the top of a corded neck just visible… Maybe it’s the adrenaline, but the woman who just saved my life is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. 

I miss the first thing she says and mentally kick myself. I knew that we had MACOs on board, including the war hero Lieutenant Connor, but I never had a chance or the inclination to _ meet _ her before. _ Get a hold of yourself, Ensign Valen, you’re twenty-nine years old and a PhD, you can’t succumb to celebrity! _

“Hey, you alright, ma’am?” the MACO asks, patting my shoulder. I start, gulp, and nod erratically. What the heck is wrong with me? I should have more self-control than this! Might be the shock, I really need to sit down...

“Lemme get those cuffs off?” She half-turns me with one arm and pulls my arms back a few centimeters. She’s firm, but surprisingly gentle for someone so impossibly fast and strong. “Hold still.” There’s a report from a phaser, a brief moment of heat, and my arms are free. “There you go. What’s your name, ma’am?” 

“Uh, Eleana, Eleana Valen.” 

“Nice to meet you.” She eyes my uniform and pips, and I feel a blush creeping up. “Ensign Valen, sorry. You from _ Bajor _?” 

“Exobiology, yes, ma’am. I specialize in therapeutic xenomicrobiology and humanoid neurodegenerative pathology.” 

“Uh… OK. I’m just going to pretend I understood that gobbledygook. Uh, no offense.” 

“Oh! None taken, they _ are _ specialized fields. Um, are you… you’re Lieutenant Connor, aren’t you?” 

She’s surprised. “Uh, yeah? Why?” 

“_The _ Lieutenant Connor?” 

“Yeah?” Then it clicks for her. “Oh! Yeah, I did do all that stuff. Except the Herald leader, I didn’t technically kill him, just kicked his ass a bit, though he kicked mine pretty hard too. It was Admiral Kree who finally killed the bastard. Wow, I’m sorry, still not used to being _ famous _ and shit.” 

“You help save the Federation, that’s gonna happen,” one of the other soldiers remarks, as the medical teams beam in. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t pry. I’m not usually this… well… star-struck, I suppose?” 

Ancet makes a pained noise. The MACO jumps, startled, then curses. “How the fuck did I forget about this jackass? Hang on, Ensign. Medic, we’ve got a HVT here to be patched up and interrogated.” Armored troops in Security colors are moving in now, zip-tying the unconscious True Way soldiers as the MACOs and medics look over my fellow former hostages. The soldier passes her groaning prisoner over to the medics, who swiftly tranquilize him and call for beamout. She turns back to me with a sheepish grin. “Sorry. Work to do and here I am jawing with a cute exobiologist like a dumbass fresh out of high school. Did they get anything out of you guys?” 

I can’t hide the blush—she thinks I’m cute! “Um, no. Is T’Mel OK? The Vulcan woman?” 

“Looks alright to me,” the MACO says, eyeing the bacterial pathologist as the medical team looks her over. “Hey, I gotta pass you off to the medics and help my team with clean-up and shit, OK? Nice to meet you, uh, Ensign Valen.” 

“Thank you for saving us, Lieutenant,” I reply, shaking her hand. Her grip is iron, but the smile is genuine. She gives me a pat on the back with her armored gloves and motions the other MACOs and one of the Security people to follow her on her way out the door. 

She even walks like a hunting cat, gliding like a Terran jaguar through the crowd of scientists, Security people and medical teams with ease. As I turn reluctantly to get looked over by a medic, one thing is certain. 

I have _ got _ to talk to that woman again. And soon. 

***

_ Rachel _. 

“She was checking out your ass, L-T,” Luiz states, slightly louder than he probably has to. 

“Bullshit, Luiz, we were in full armor,” I reply over K’tar’s classical-music station blasting a Sabaton song about the battle of Kursk from our room’s speakers. “Champion 4-5-2.” It’s been about a day since we hit the True Way, and we’re back to playing _ tlhInSa _ as _ Bajor _ takes the prisoners back to DS9 for processing. 

“Didn’t stop her from eyeing you like a chocolate cake,” Luiz retorts as Lamont groans. “Hey, Chief, you going to resign anytime soon so Kallio and I can have a turn?” 

“Go play some 3-D chess or something, I’m not giving up. Warrior 4-5-4.” 

I chuckle. “Nice try. Swordbearer 4-5-3. Trap, kill.” 

“Awww, targ spit,” mutters Lamont. Luiz snorts and heaves his burly ass off the bunk. 

“C’mon, Kallio and I have to do a rematch of our Final Reflection match.” 

“Fine, take your bloody turn…” Lamont grouses. “Good game, sir.” 

“Good game. I thought you had me there with the Koloth gambit into my base region.” 

“You pulled off a solid Kruge defense, though,” Lamont notes. “I thought you were trying to hold your warriors back for the counter.” 

“I was. You almost got me, actually, if you’d made it two more turns before starting the attack my line probably would’ve collapsed. I wasn’t sure if you were delaying or about to try a Koloth on me.” 

“Technically I _ was _ delaying. I _ knew _ I should’ve waited a bit longer, though.” 

The doorbell chimes. K’tar looks up from the autoturret he’s fiddling with. “Who’s that?” 

“Dunno,” I respond, stepping around Luiz and Kallio (already deep in concentration) towards the door. “Party’s not for two days, Captain would comm me, doc would ping my PADD.” 

I open the door, and—shit. It’s that chick from the mission, the Reman/Trill lady, who jerks back wide-eyed at the sight of me in a tank top and uniform trousers with _ Panzerkampf _ blasting in the background. _One million men at war, the Soviet march unleashed!_ crows a singer four centuries dead, and my brain catches up with the rest of me. “Whoah! Uh, hi! One sec.” I turn to K’tar. “HEY! Turn the music down for a minute, will you?” The music stops abruptly, and I turn back to the Ensign. “Valen, right? Eleana Valen, from Exobiology?” 

She nods, gulping. “Um, yes. Hello! I, er, wanted to thank you again for… um… that is to say, you saved my life on that station.” 

“Don’t mention it, just doing my job.” I hear Lamont moving to lean against the wall behind me. “Ignore him, he doesn’t bite.” 

“Triachis III,” Lamont grumbles from behind me. 

“Except for the one time,” I amend my previous statement, leaning against the door slot and crossing my arms. I think I hear Ensign Valen make a weird sound in her throat. “Though that _ was _ a fucked-up day.” 

“Doyouwanttogetsomecoffeewithme?” It spills out of Valen in a rush. I freeze. 

“Uh…” She interrupts me, blushing, before I can form a thought. 

“Sorry! I meant, do you want to get a coffee with me? I’m sorry, I’m so nervous right now…” 

“That’s… uh… I… uh…” My head is sending _ red alert _ sirens to my entire system. “Maybe?” I manage to squeak out. _ Come on, Rachel, pull it together! You’re “Dickbreaker” Connor, the sex fiend of the class of ‘03! Where’s your game, woman? _

But that was when I was Human, nags the little voice in the back of my head. Now that I’m an Augment…

_ You have rights. You’re just a Human with a few extra features. You’re in control _. 

Ensign Valen breaks my train of thought. “Are you alright?” 

“Huh? Uh, yeah, I’m… I’m fine. Why?” 

She taps the side of her head. “I’m an empath, half-Reman. You’re spreading gloom and inner confusion like a petroleum tractor spitting fumes.” She sees my fear, and winces. “Oh, Sef, I’m sorry for prying…” 

“Nah, s’fine. So… um… when do you want to meet?” 

“The bar, in half an hour? I just need to change out of my uniform…” 

“Yeah, sure, why not? I’ll, uh, be there, I guess?” 

“Great! See you there!” 

I finally, mercifully, can step back and let the door close. I turn to Lamont and my forced smile collapses. “Oh fuck, what did I just do?” 

“Got yourself a date, which is about the single best decision you’ve made about getting your life back on track in the last month,” grunts K’tar, not even looking up from the autoturret he’s got open on his bunk. 

“Yeah, I noticed, smartass. Rhetorical question” I run a hand through my hair—need to cut it again, it’s getting towards an inch long—and curse. “Right. I gotta get dressed. Service blacks or dress?” 

“Well, some women like uniforms,” begins Lamont, “but I’m not sure if that’s the message you want to send on a first date—unless you want to get into her bed fast and think she’s into women in uniform…” 

“You know, I _ do _ know how to put shit other than my fingers down there, Chief. I _ have _ done this before.” Many, many times. So many, in fact, that me being nervous is weirding me out, and, ironically, making me more nervous. 

“Then why are you asking for help?” 

I open my mouth, then close it. K’tar pokes something in the turret and makes a satisfied grunt, then looks up. “He’s got a point, L-T; you want your life back, you have to take the step and _ take _ it back. My advice is, don’t let the aug shit stop you from enjoying a date, and don’t worry about how to fuck with super strength until later.” 

“Besides,” Luiz remarks, not even looking up from his and Kallio’s game, “Vulcans somehow manage it with Humans just fine.” 

“Fine. Civvie clothes it is.” I head for the replicator, trying to block thoughts of having sex with superhuman strength and the accompanying anxiety out of my head. “Computer, replicate me a women’s outfit in a current fashionable style, size… uh… use my uniform size for comparison.” 

There’s a beep, then a hum. I pull the sleek black fabric out, not that there’s much of it. Lamont makes a confused grunting sound. I raise an eyebrow. “This is _ clothing _?” 

“I think it’s a new fad, L-T. My mad aunt was complaining about something like this when we talked after Mockingbird.” 

“Yeah. OK, new plan. Computer, give me… a clean uniform.” I toss the slinky dress aside. “Seriously, what the hell, though?” 

“I concede that cleavage windows don’t really work for you,” admits Lamont. 

“I have _ cleavage _ ? Have you _ seen _ my pathetic A-cup excuses for tits lately?” It’s only partially self-deprecation. 

“Yes,” he deadpans. “We only have the one shower and you sleep in the raw.” 

“Fair point,” I concede, turning to switch my tank top for an undershirt. “Aw, hell—I suck at makeup.”

“Just use your skin and I’ll tell you what looks good,” Lamont suggests. Not a bad idea, come to think of it. I grab my dress uniform top, trying not to wrinkle it too much, and shrug it on.

“Alright. Chromatophores it is.” I turn, shrugging on my uniform top. “I’m not winning any beauty contests anytime soon but one good thing about the… problem. No scars to fuck up my ugly mug. Anyway. Black around the eyes and red on the lips?”

“Yeah, I think so. K’tar, want to lend a hand?”

“What I know about makeup can be written on my left little toe,” the Klingon replies. “Sorry.”

“Nah, it’s fine.” I straighten the top and nod to Lamont. “Tell me when.”

He waits a few seconds as I push on my chromatophores, then…

“Stop on the eyes. Give me a little more on the lips.” I do so. “Looks good to me. Hey, Luiz, Kallio!”

“Yeah?” Luiz replies without looking up. 

“You’re into women, tell me if the L-T looks good.”

Luiz spares a glance from his game. “Yeah, she looks good enough for polite company. She won’t be winning any beauty contests, but good enough for the bar. You’ve got good taste, Chief.”

“Alright, then.” I slide on my boots and do the laces. “Gimme my booze, I need a quick shot of liquid courage.”

Lamont passes my flask over, albeit grudgingly—probably doesn’t want me to overindulge like I did two weeks back. I take a swig, cap it, make sure that none of the toxic shit I drink spilled out, and toss the flask back to him. “Thanks. Alright, boys, don’t break anything while I’m out.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure they’re house-trained,” jokes Lamont as I head out.

***

“_ Leutenant _ Connor? Why are you in uniform off duty, sir?”

“I got a date, Hohenzollern.” The princess does a double take. “What?”

“I… nothing. I was merely… a little surprised.”

I grunt. “That anyone had the balls to ask me out?”

“Actually, we weren’t sure that you were interested in _ anyone _,” she confesses. “I think that I just won fifty credits.”

“It’s _ that _ obvious that my vagina’s growing cobwebs?”

“Er…” She turns beet red. “I’m not entirely sure how to politely explain…”

I sigh. “Save it. I know I’m fucked up. Why’re you here?”

“We just finished with boarding simulations, sir. I wanted to relax with a drink for a few minutes before sending a comm to _ Vati _ . He and _ Mutti _ are _ absurdly _ worried about me, it’s getting kind of annoying.”

“Oh, that’s right, you’re dad’s crown prince, right?”

“_ Kronprinz in Preußen _ Ruprecht Karl, yes. Lieutenant Commander, Starfleet Engineering, retired. Formerly stationed to USS _ Tawantisuyu _.”

“Never met the guy, sorry. Seen his picture once or twice in charity ads, I think. What’s it like? Being a princess and all?”

“Very boring and very hot. You would not _ believe _ how much formal gowns can weigh, sir. Oh, and I don’t get to vote in provincial elections because one of my ancestors got crowned with a tinfoil tiara in the middle of a nuclear apocalypse, that’s annoying.”

“Yeah, that last one sounds like a legal snarl and a half. Formal gowns, though? Can’t be heavier than body armor.”

“That’s what you would expect, yes.” I raise an eyebrow at her tone. 

“That bad?”

“It’s like wearing—oh, is that her?”

I turn, and gape. Ensign Valen’s just stepped out of the turbolift and looks nervous as hell, but I barely register her expression. That dress looks good with scales.

Hohenzollern claps me on my shoulder with a chuckle. “_ Gott im Himmel _. You’re obviously not going to hear anything I say from now on, sir. I hope that your date goes well.” She turns and heads into the bar, muttering about lucky senior officers.

Crewman Gisela Hohenzollern’s as young as she looks—hell, the only reason that eighteen-year-old college kid’s even out here instead of at the Academy is that we need ANY warm bodies we can get into seats—and even _ she _ can see how badly I’ve got it. I’m _ screwed _.

It’s been months since I actually let myself admire someone’s body, I realize. Man, I forgot how it felt to just look at someone as they’re walking down the corridor, blushing green as she catches my gaze, and fuck what is it about science officers that makes ‘em so cute? Trill spots and auburn hair on a finely scaled Reman face with pointy ears, deep brown eyes and that sleek black dress? _ Yeah _. And she can pull off the little black dress, unlike yours truly.

My mouth just went dry and my collar feels stiflingly hot. I’m _ so _ boned.

_ You’re an aug. You shouldn’t want this _, nags my subconscious.

_ Shut the fuck up _ , I shoot back. _ I’m gonna enjoy my date and it’s perfectly… perfectly normal for me to want to do this. Nothing wrong at all. _

_ Humans go on dates. You’re not a human. You’re an animal, you learned this in school. You’re going to snap, you’re going to kill her, snapping her neck like you killed those Cardassians… _

_ Shut up. _ She raises an eyebrow at me, noticing my thoughts probably. I try a manufactured smile. It doesn’t work.

_ You don’t deserve this. You know what you are. You live to kill, Rachel. You’re designed for it. It’s all you know how to do. It’s all you’re good for! _

“Are you alright?” Ensign Valen asks. She taps her head again, possibly on sheer instinct. “I can feel something eating at you.”

“I’m fine,” I snap. “Uh, sorry. Just… personal shit. Sorry, I should’ve worn a dress.”

“No! Er, well, that is to say, you look rav—perfectly fine in this.” She starts running a hand up my arm, and stops. “Sorry. So… coffee?”

“Right. Yeah. Sure. Let’s go.” Please don’t let me fuck this up…

***

_ Eleana _

Oh, _ Sef _ . She’s even more beautiful in uniform than in the tank top. Not that I don’t appreciate those bronzed muscles flexing against each other… but there’s something about crisp service blacks that just makes her _ glow _. 

Especially with her shoulders threatening to burst the seams. _Damn_. 

Lieutenant Connor’s talking to someone from Security, a young blonde who transferred here at about the same time I did, but snaps her head around as I leave the turbolift. I feel a flush as she takes me in. Hopefully the cleavage isn’t too much.

The Security woman claps her on the back and heads into the bar, shaking her head. My date (!!!) looks back up to my face—and turns aside, her thoughts clouding again as that toxic sensation bubbles up from beneath her mind. It starts to subside as I approach, but it’s still there. Lieutenant Connor grimaces at me in an approximation of a smile.

What keeps eating at her? Is it me? No, she’s definitely attracted to me—the benefits of empathic senses, unless you focus and shut them off you can tell if someone’s interested. Family emergency? But why would she agree to a date?

“Are you alright? I can feel something eating at you.” Sef, she looks good in that makeup.

“I’m fine,” she snaps, voice brittle as her mind bubbles beneath the surface. “Uh, sorry. Just… personal shit.” She waves dismissively and crosses those magnificent arms again. “Sorry, I should’ve worn a dress.”

“No!” I protest—I don’t think I could keep my composure seeing that much of her skin. “Er, well, that is to say, you look rav—perfectly fine in this.” _ Ravishing _ , I want to see what’s under that… I kick myself mentally. _ You’re an _ ** _adult_ ** _ , Eleana. _ ** _Act_ ** _ like it. _ “Sorry. So… coffee?”

She doesn’t take my arm, which is probably a good thing given how unstable my emotions are right now, but she does hold the door sensor for me. My heart flutters; I’m a sucker for old-fashioned women. I turn to give her a smile and thank her—and I stumble in my heels, can’t catch my balance, and topple forwards with a squeak of shock.

Rachel moves faster than anyone should be able to, easily catching me by the shoulder with a firm hand.

“Careful there! You wear those damn spikes often?” She rights me with easy grace, like I’m light as a feather. Sef, why does this woman have to be _ so damn sexy _? “I mean, you look totally fu—I mean, really amazing, no offense, I’m just worried because you’re off-balance.” 

She’s so _ sweet _! I sit on my excitement enough to answer. “I spend most of my days in a lab—the last time I wore heels was in a Quark Enterprises ripoff of a Bond romance.”

“Oh, of course, you need close-toed flat shoes in lab. Drove my lab partner crazy—he was this Tellarite hippie who was the biggest shoe fiend you’d ever meet. Great guy, but he had this war with the lab instructor, nearly cost him his GPA.” I laugh with her. “Here, lemme get your chair. Hey, Lang! Can we have two hot coffees, the good sh—stuff, not the replicated kind?” She pulls out my chair without even looking down. And they say chivalry’s dead...

“Coming right up,” the Cardassian replies with a grin. “I heard about yesterday’s raid. Good work, Lieutenant.”

“Just doing my job,” the MACO replies with a shrug, and she turns back to me. “You want anything in particular?”

“Just black coffee, I _ live _ on that.”

She chuckles. “Oh, man, that brings back the memories from the Academy. Want anything to eat?”

“I’m alright, do you need anything?”

“Yeah, sorry—I eat a lot. Be right back.” She heads for the replicator, and I turn halfway in my seat to just _ drink _ in those toned legs in crisp black uniform pants… 

_ Sef _, Eleana, what’s the matter with you?

…well, if I’m going to be honest with myself, it’s been a year since I’ve had private time with anything that didn’t run on batteries, and this woman is hitting _ all _ of my buttons. I force myself to turn back. Ivanashvilli, who’s sitting in the corner with the blonde from Security and a pair of Maintenance men who came on board in the same shuttle as us—a Bajoran and a Human—gives me a thumbs-up. I blush.

The bar’s about a third full, which makes sense given that most people only just got off-shift. A few people from Engineering, a couple of other science officers, and some low-ranking weapons techs. I just hope that Lieutenant Connor likes the atmosphere. 

Connor comes back with a replicated pizza and a scone. “Just in case, I got you something.”

“Oh, thank you! Blueberry?”

“Yeah—did you want something else?” Her worried look is absolutely adorable. 

“No, this is perfect.” She takes a seat. “So… I’ve always wondered, what do you MACOs do in your off shifts?”

“Depends,” Connor shrugs. “Mostly shooting the shit, playing _ tlhInSa _ , sometimes 3-D chess. We pass around my _ Jane’s _ subscription, too, and K’tar likes to tinker with his kit to max out performance. What do you do?”

“I like to read the latest issues of _ Nature _ and the _ Tellar Prime Journal of Medicine _, to keep up in the field. You mentioned that you play Klingon chess?”

“_ tlhInSa _ , yeah. It’s good stuff, keeps your mind sharp, and you need split-second decisions in the field. Final Reflection’s great for that—that’s a type of _ tlhInSa _ where you…”

“Take turns playing each others’ pieces, I know. I play it, a little, though not competitively—I’m more into 3-D chess.”

“Hey, that’s a good game.” Lang puts two mugs on the bar and my date looks over; I’m just trying to ignore my colleague’s thumbs-ups from across the room. “Hang on, be right back.”

I shoot a death glare at Ivanashvilli as she makes a crude gesture of encouragement. The blonde slaps her hands down. Rachel slides back into her seat, studiously avoiding my co-worker’s antics with just enough of a forced casual attitude to be completely obvious.

“Here you go, Ensign.”

“Thank you! And please, call me Eleana.”

“…alright, Eleana.” She stares at me for a moment, her brain ruminating, then speaks up again as I’m taking a sip of coffee. “You can call me Rachel, if we’re going to be familiar.”

“Alright, _ Rachel _.” The name rolls off my tongue, and she shivers with a wave of desire that brushes past her nervousness for a split-second. So she likes my voice, good to know… “So…you play 3-D chess?”

“A bit, yeah.” She sees the spark in my eyes. “You’re a fan?”

“Amateur competitions. I’m ranked around 350th on Trill.”

“Not bad. We’ll have to play sometime, give you a chance to kick my ass a little bit. You’re from Trill?”

“Well, I was born on a family estate in the Regulus system—Mother was joined, _ di’ranov _ was from ch’Havran—but we moved back when I was seven.”

“Now _ that _ marriage sounds like it’s got a story behind it.” She shoves a slice of her pizza into her mouth, washing it down with the coffee.

“Oh, you have no _ idea _ . _ Di’ranov _ was a slave shock trooper before the Dominion War, he defected to the Federation when the Empire thought he was dead; Mother was a field medic who helped him get away. She told me about their honeymoon on Aldebaran about once a month. Imagine the most _ sickeningly _ in-love people you can, one of them stoic and awkward and the other a complete romantic.”

“Wow. Thank fuck my parents weren’t like that, no offense.”

“None taken, Mother is the _ most _ embarrassing parent you’ve ever met when _ di’ranov _’s around.” I take a sip of my drink, then return the question. “What’s your family like, Rachel?”

She flushes at the way I say her name, and I file that reaction away for later. “Uh, Mom writes spaceport romance novels—the kind you pick up and read because you’re sitting around for a delayed spaceliner and you’re bored out of your skull. Dad was an engineering noncom in the Dominion War, retired after a half-decent career. My brother’s a cop and my sister’s—I’m not actually sure _ what _ she does, but she had time to have two kids while I was MIA.”

“Oh, that must have been so hard, going home when they thought you were dead… I can’t even imagine what that would be like.”

“Yeah, it kind of sucked. Not as bad as I thought, though.” She takes a bite, chews, and swallows. “My nephew thinks I’m a superhero or something.”

“What.”

Rachel chuckles. “Yeah, he says I’m a superhero. Dunno why, I don’t exactly have the tits for it.”

Her openness is making me bold. “I don’t know, I think you’d look _ wonderful _ in a Power Girl costume.”

“Who, now? Oh, wait, I remember--Earth comic books, was really popular in the 23rd century? That blonde in white with the giant tits?” 

“And the indestructible skin, yes.” 

“Seriously? _ Me _ in that cleavage-window suit?” She shakes her head, then stuffs the last of her pizza into her mouth.

“I was thinking more the leotard for those arms and legs.” I raise my eyebrows at the powerful shoulders pressing into her shirt’s seams. “You’ve got some _ incredible _ muscles, it’d be a shame not to show them off a little.” I lick my lips at the thought. “I’d pay good latinum to see you in that leotard.” Maybe I’m flirting a little aggressively, but her reaction’s worth it. 

She blushes deep purple—literally. Her entire face flows into a deep blue-violet, the lips and mascara included. “Uh, thank you, I… they didn’t come easy, heh, took me years in the gym.” Then she notices my startled expression. “What?”

“You’re, um, purple.”

“Oh, _ shit _!” She ducks her head, something black and oily surging in her mind, and the skin flows back into the light brown that she had earlier. “I’m sorry,” she says, much quieter now, as she looks up. Her makeup’s gone—if it ever existed. “I’m sorry, you should hate me, it’s a thing…”

“Why should I hate you? Everybody’s got something unique about them.” I reach out with my right hand and lay it on her left shoulder. “Hey. I’m half-Trill and half-Reman. My blood’s green, I have a malformed partial symbiote pouch, and I had to have corrective surgery on my teeth because my canines came in the wrong shape. Turning odd colors isn’t anything too bad.” I recognize that oily tide that’s consuming her thoughts—it’s _ fear _, at least for the most part—a toxic mix of fear with a touch of self-loathing.

“You don’t know what I am.” She spits it. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

“I don’t care.” I don’t know what kind of cybernetics can make your skin color change like that, but I’m not going to let this woman kick herself for being ex-Borg, or whatever else she is. “If it weren’t for you I’d be _ dead _ . You and your strength and your skill and your speed are why I’m here today, with you, on a coffee date. I don’t care if you’re a cyborg or a damn _ Founder _, you saved my life—and the entire Federation at that.”

“Technically, the Captain saved the Federation, I just captured the flagship,” she mutters. “And… what I am is a _ lot _ worse than a Founder, Eleana.”

I finish off my coffee. “That’s Air-damned ridiculous. You saved me, you saved a dozen other people yesterday, you’re a national hero. And if you were…something bad, why would you confess it to someone like me like this?” _ And why in Sef’s name are you so scared of me _?

“It’s… I’m… I…” Her neck muscles ripple as she sets her jaw. “Can we just go?”

“Sure. Your quarters or mine?”

“I just want to head out, I don’t want to talk about this.”

“…Alright, if you say so. But Rachel? If you need anyone to talk to…”

“I can’t talk about it. I can’t.” She shakes her head, shoving her chair back. Ivanashvilli is frowning at us, but the blonde pulls her down. “I shouldn’t—I can’t do this to you.” The fear and hate is pulsing from her brain like a vile cloud—but it’s not fear of me or anyone else, I realize; it’s fear of _ herself _. “I’m sorry, I should just…”

She cuts off as I step around the table and grab her arm, drawing her close. I feel those powerful muscles tense, but she doesn’t strike out. “Hey. It’s alright. I already told you, I don’t care what you are. And if you need someone to talk to about it… I’ll keep your secret.”

She stops still, then looks up slowly. Her eyes are narrowed, nostrils flared, the fear crystallizing into a knife edge. “Are you a mole? With Section 31?”

“Who?” Isn’t Section 31 some kind of terrorist group?

Rachel nearly sags in relief, the tension in her neck releasing somewhat. “Nothing. Never mind, I’m sorry. Should’ve trusted you from the start. My bad.”

“I understand. If you need some time to be alone, I can leave by myself…”

“No! No, I gotta step up. I’m gonna walk you back to your quarters. OK?”

“Alright, but only if you’re comfortable…”

“Yeah. Yeah, I gotta do this, OK? Do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

***

_ Rachel _

Before I got turned into a monster, normally when I needed to fuck I’d get drunk with a friend and we’d wake up in the same bunk with bad hangovers and get a token chewing-out from whoever was CO for being late for inspection. Sometimes not even that—one DI I had spent two hours shouting at me and Sanjay Patel for showing up to inspection buck naked, then told us that we were the funniest thing he’d seen in ten years and said that he hoped the sex was good. I’ve fucked everything from Bajorans (for the intellectual, all the temple schools they have means that a lot of them have some neat thoughts on religion if you like to talk once you’re both fucked silly) to Bolians (take allergy pills beforehand and use protection) to Klingons (for the woman who likes it rough, be prepared to top your ass off, wear a dominatrix outfit, and expect it to get torn), to other Humans (the lukewarm replicated pasta of sex). 

That changed after I woke up on a steel bed in a Section 31 lab. I went from an elite badass, the pride of the Federation, to a ticking time bomb—an engineered living weapon designed from the ground up to kill. I’m strong enough to snap a neck one-handed and punch through tritanium, my teeth are serrated shark fangs, and my brain’s… no, I _ can’t _ go there. 

Long story short, it’s been four years since I so much as sat on a bunk and watched a holo with somebody, and with every step reminding me of what I am, I’m not exactly comfortable with a funny, intelligent Ensign with a nice set of tits that I can’t ignore in that dress and those beautiful fine green scales curving along her neck…

I force myself to look away, feeling sick to my stomach. I want this, I want to just be with someone and do stupid shit like watching a cheesy holo and eating buttered corn and sugary crap and kissing over lunch, having a hot night in and laying in bed talking afterwards, slow-dancing on the holodeck in a 20th century bar replica, all that shit like that, but at the same time…part of me’s actively telling the rest that I don’t deserve any of this. 

Yeah. I think I need therapy. 

Her hand runs up my arm again. “Hey, are you alright?” 

“Yeah, I’m…” I trail off. Can’t lie to an empath about emotions, can I? “No. No, I’m not. It’s a personal thing. I’m sorry. I can’t… I can’t do this.” 

“…is it because of the scales?” 

“No! No, it’s me, I… part of me says I don’t deserve _ this _.” I indicate the two of us with a sweeping gesture. “I’m… it’s… I can’t tell anyone, it’s…” I wave my arms helplessly. “I’m sorry. I can’t…” 

“It’s alright,” she promises. “Have you talked to a therapist?” 

I shrug. “A little. Not much. It’s not something that I’m, you know, comfortable talking about.” 

“I won’t pry,” she promises. That slender hand squeezes my bicep gently. “Hey. Whatever’s eating you, the Captain clearly doesn’t care, it can’t be _ that _ bad.” There’s a pause. “She _ does _ know, right?” 

“Yeah. The Captain, senior staff, Watkins and Maela in Medical.” I force myself to relax. “It’s a thing, because of… how I was raised. A Human thing.” 

“If you ever want to talk about it, you’re safe with me,” she promises. “Do you… maybe want to see a holo-movie next week?” 

I blink, shock that _ she actually wants to spend more time with me _ warring with my toxic marinade of self-hate. “Uh… sure? What show?” 

“Have you seen _ Federation and Empire _?” 

“…the Garv Teryx flick? Romance? Won a bunch of awards?” 

“Swept the Oscars, actually,” Eleana corrects, her perfect lips flexing around her teeth in a cute little smile. “I think you’ll like it.” 

I force myself to answer; it isn’t easy. “Yeah. Sure. Same time? Holodeck 2?” 

“That sounds lovely, I’ll reserve the timeslot.” She taps her door panel to open it, and turns to me in the doorway, the sleek dress swirling around her ankles. “Thank you. You’re very sweet, when you let yourself relax, you know that?” 

I blush and try to curl up inside my service blacks. “I… well, uh…” _ Fuck, Rachel, you used to be able to talk a girl into your sack with thirty minutes and a pair of beers! _ “Thank you?” My voice comes out in a squeak. 

She leans in and gives me a quick, nervous kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you next week, hopefully sooner. Stay sane, alright?” She offers me a nervous smile, blushing deep green, and the door closes. 

I stand there for a full thirty seconds before my brain manages to process what just happened. 

***

_ Eleana _

My door buzzer starts ringing incessantly as I’m taking out my earrings. 

“Come in!” 

Tanya Ivanashvilli throws herself into my spare chair with a huff of air. “Hey, Valen, how’d it go with the soldier babe?” 

“We had a pleasant date, and I think she likes me,” I reply as neutrally as possible. 

“Nah, c’mon, you _ did _ manage to bang her, didn’t you?” She catches my expression and groans. “Oh, come _ on _ , Valen, you _ have _ to take the plunge sometime! From what I saw, you make the move and she’s _ yours _.” 

“I could tell _ that _ much, I’m a bloody empath, remember?” I shake my head at my colleague’s crudeness. “She’s… she’s not up for that, Tanya. It wouldn't be good for her. I probably _ could _ seduce her if I gave it a bit of effort, but she’s deeply messed up internally. I’d be hurting _ her _ and I couldn’t do that.” 

“Oh.” Her thoughts just went cold. “Because she used to be Borg, right?” 

“Possibly. It felt… _ wrong _, though. Self-hate, on a really nasty level.” I shiver. “I think that’s what post-traumatic stress does to you.” 

“…am I glad we’re just scientists and the rescue came before Ancet's goons could do anything,” Tanya mutters. “Tell me you at _ least _ got a second date.” 

“Oh, yes. We’re seeing _ Federation and Empire _ together next week.” It’s a good holo—an old-school noninteractive about a Romulan officer and her Tellarite counterpart who are forced to work together to clear their names, and eventually enter a relationship that leads to one of the early peace deals between the Federation and the Romulan Empire. It’s about as historically accurate as _ Titanic VI _, but the actresses are hot and the score’s brilliant. 

“Good choice,” says Tanya with an appreciative smirk. “We may train you up yet.” 

“Oh, hush.” She just chuckles. “How was the double date?” 

“Good. Eddie Cantrell brought a nice flask of Aldebaran whiskey. Gisela had to comm her parents a little bit after you left. Average casual after-shift thing.” She leans forward. “But you gotta tell me. Rumor on the ship is her cybernetics are overclocked and modified to make her stronger than a Vulcan. What did it feel like, her catching you and stuff?” 

I can’t help but smile at the memory. “She’s like a tiger, Ivanashvilli. A screwed-up tiger, but still… beautiful, powerful…” 

“Eh, appearance wise I’d rate her a five. She’s got nice skin.” I glare at her. “Oh _ ho _ ! You’ve got _ opinions _ on that!” 

“Shut up, Tanya.” 

She grins wider than an angry Gorn, something I’ve fortunately only seen once in my life. “Who’d have thought. Our little Ensign Valen, not only landing a badass hero, but falling head over heels!” 

I throw a pillow at her head to shut the loudmouth up. 

***

_ Rachel _

Lamont’s cleaning his gun when I sort of dazedly walk back into our bachelor pad, the firing mechanism in neatly arranged pieces on one of the chairs. Kallio and Luiz are still in the middle of their game. K’tar’s reading a book on his PADD. 

“Lieutenant. How was the date?” 

“I think she likes me,” I manage. He rolls his eyes. 

“And the winner of the yearly ‘no duh!’ contest goes to…” 

“Aw, shut the fuck up, Chief.” I slump into a spare chair. “She kissed me. Wants to go see a romance epic with me next week.” 

“Oh yeah? She’s serious about it, huh?” 

“I guess?” I rub my biceps, feeling chilled for some stupid reason. “Fuck. What’d I just get into? I’m gonna get someone hurt…” 

“Nope,” grunts K’tar. “And if you keep telling yourself that you’ll fuck yourself up even worse.” He flips a page on his PADD. “Like I told you last month, get your fucking head out of your racist ass.” 

“Easy, man,” Lamont cautions. “She’s messed up in the head and dealing with hating herself, you gotta be a _ little _ more gentle than that.” He turns back to me. “He’s got a point, though. What do you think about her?” 

“Smart. Interesting. Hot. I just… normally, a girl like that, we’d already be in bed.” 

“You don’t want to?” 

“I _ can’t _. It’s… the augment thing. What if I hurt her? Not just instincts that I have, that I might have, that would go bad. What if we’re doing something, and I break her arm or something? You know how strong I am, I put a man’s head through a commode once.” _Or my aug instincts flare, the hate and bloodlust that the law I'm sworn to says is coded into my genome, and I hurt her in a fit of aug blood-rage like the horror stories you hear in school..._

“You’re worried you could move too fast, push too hard or something?” 

“Man of steel, woman of Kleenex, right? Like those old extranet memes?” 

“Yeah, there’s a risk there, maybe.” Lamont shrugs as he starts snapping the rifle back together. “But seriously, just take it slow and easy, Vulcans and Klingons manage with Humans and Trill alright. If you’re still worried, try blowing off some steam on the holodeck. Oughta help calm you down, work through some stuff.” 

“No. Fighting helps me _ ignore _ this shit.” I rub my temples with a sigh. “I need to just look myself in the mirror and tell myself I should commit to this.” 

Lamont points to the bathroom. “We’ve got a whole wall of the things in there.” 

“Thanks, Captain Obvious.” 

He grins back at me. “Don’t mention it.” 

“_ Perkele _ !” swears Kallio, jerking back from the _ tlhInSa _ game. Luiz laughs as the Finn fumes. “That was _ cheap _ , you _ vitun kusipää _!” 

“Cheap or not, it worked, _ compadre _,” the giant colonial shoots back. 

“I thought you were trying for a Kang Sweep, you damn…” He curses again in Finnish and claps his hands to his face, slowly drawing them down so he can look at the board. “Clever bastard,” he admits after a moment. Luiz chuckles. 

“Damn right, I just beat you fair and square. Now where’s that vodka I got promised?” 

“Oh, no, no, no,” Kallio replies with a vicious grin. “We said best two out of three. Get the 3D chess set, we’re having a _ rematch _, here and now!” 

I can’t help but grin at their antics. “Alright, boys. You do your thing. I need to get changed into something a little more comfortable, then… K’tar, can you hack personnel files?” 

“Yeah, though I really shouldn’t unless it’s important. What do you need?” 

“I need to find out what kind of flowers Eleana—uh, Ensign Valen—likes. Like, now. Before next week.” 

The Klingon rolls his eyes. “Yeah, you’re completely screwed, sir. I’ll give you a hand, no problem, so long as you promise not to get sappy on us next week.” 

“Thanks.” I try again to sit on the bullshit welling up inside my head. “Yeah. I’m _ doing _ this shit, boys.” 

“We’re rooting for you, sir,” is Lamont’s reply. It helps, a bit. The guys have my back in this. I’m not going to let my issues stop me from experiencing something good. 


End file.
